


Enough for now

by superhusbands



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, Major character death - Freeform, song prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhusbands/pseuds/superhusbands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breathing comes in pairs, except for twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough for now

There was something beautiful about silence. Growing up in Chicago, especially on the Southside, you didn't get to experience much quiet. If it wasn't a car backfiring, or gunshots, or someone busting a window, it was the sound of sirens or arguments out on the street. There was always something happening, always noise, and it was something you grew accustomed to. He was no exception. How many times had he heard his parents screaming at each other, high on some substance or drunk out of their minds, with it resulting in either smashed bottles or broken furniture. He wasn't sure what was worse-- the fighting, or the makeup sex that came after. No matter how many times he'd walked in on either one, it was never something that he got used to. 

Silence though, he'd gotten used to silence. When he closed his eyes he could remember how it felt to not have to think about anything, to be able to hear the sound of his own heart beating, and his breath coming out in slow, equal, breaths. He could remember how foreign it was to wake up and not hear people walking in and out of room, shouting about something or another and arguing about whose turn it was to pick up the beer. Some days he missed it, missed the constant state of chaos that filled the house, but most days it was a relief. If it was quiet he could think, and if he could think he could remember. 

He'd remember cold winter days, the two of the bundled up in coats, and the other boy pretending not to care that it was snowing and that they were both getting soaked as they lay under the tracks of the L. He'd remember how sick they both got, how he'd thought they'd never get better until they stole a bunch of cough syrup from the Kash & Grab and stayed inside until they started feeling normal again. He remembered hot summer nights when their shirts stuck to them and it was unbearable to even lay close to each other with any clothing on. When the heat made him hornier than ever, and made it impossible to keep his hands off of him. He remembered running ice cubes over their chests, anything to cool off, as his tongue flicked out against an oversensitive nipple. 

He also remembered the fights; the way their voices raised, fists flew, and someone ended up walking away with a black eye or a broken heart. He remembered spats about who would chip in for beer, whether or not it was acceptable to break someone's legs for messing with his sister, and who got to use the blue controller when they played video games. Things had been simple, the fights had been ridiculous, and they always found a way to push through it. But then he remembered the words, so violent and hostile, thrown out without a moment's notice when the tables turned. He remembered the way his shoulders had stiffened, his heart had shattered, and the way he'd refused to show how broken he was as he turned and walked away. He hadn't looked back, not once, and he remembered how much it hurt. The hurt filled up the silence, it choked the sound of his breathing, and sometimes he forgot how.  
Silence had always been beautiful, had always been something he'd craved, but it reared an ugly head when it was all he head. He came home to silence, he ate with silence, and silence was his only bedfellow. Sometimes he traded in silence for misery, for consolation prizes, but it was never as good as what he'd given up. He had too much pride to go back, to answer his phone, and he forced himself to stop remembering. He shoved the silence in the back of his mind, let the noise in, and tried to forget. 

He didn't remember the way that their bodies seemed to almost fit perfectly, like they would never belong to anyone else, and he didn't remember the way that his heart used to race whenever they were in the same vicinity. He didn't remember the feel of his fingers digging into his hipbones, how it felt gentle and rough at the same time and sent his senses reeling. He didn't remember the first time he'd sputtered out those three words and the silence that had accompanied them, the most beautiful silence that he'd ever heard. He didn't need to hear the noise, didn't have to listen, because the look on his face told him all that he needed to know. No, he didn't remember, didn't let himself remember, but some days it was impossible to forget. 

He'd never forget the day he got the call. He'd never forget the way his fingers had stilled on the pages of the magazine he was flipping, the way his heart skipped a beat and he nearly dropped the phone. The silence on the other end had been deafening, only drowned out by the sound of his own breathing when he finally remembered how to do it. In, out, in, and then out again. It was the only thing he could do, because it was the only thing that made sense. He was sure he'd said something, anything to comfort the crying girl on the other end of the phone, but he didn't remember. 

Of all the things he'd never forget, the one thing he'd always remember was how deafening the silence was when he got the call that Mickey Milkovich was dead. 

Silence had never seemed so ugly.


End file.
